Short Stories & Flash Fiction
Comments 3

My Favourite Pen

My laptop stands open, the harsh white light of a blank page staring out at me accusingly, because for some reason, I seemed to have betrayed it. Instead my hand creeps for the slick, silver curve of my favourite pen. The one for which I even search shops, to find the right sized ink refill, just so it can live a little longer.
It lounges in the cradle of my hand, its tip hovering over the lined expanse of a new notepad, my excitement pouring through this extension of me, waiting to spill out. Elbows resting on the unyielding wood of my desk as the world drops away, and a million voices rise to clamour for my attention.
Characters of youth and age, scrabble towards the page beneath my pen, their desperate dash to be the ones who finally spring to life in words and ink. Slowly the nib comes down and the white of the paper is blemished, unchangeable now in its imperfection, but perfection does not exist in the mind of a writer.
Plot lines and people, fall out of my head in scribbled, vague messes, as if I stare at them through a stranger’s glasses.  But as the pen moves, black lining what was once clean, those blurs begin to sharpen and change. Pirates hang from the rigging of long lost ships, sailing across uncharted waters. While fairies dance across roof top beams and enchant sleeping children. The witches hide in mountain valleys, their skin coiled with spells and Elvin Queens sit on lonely thrones, while their children scorn their choices.
Sometimes I will stumble, and the pen with stall and stutter. Unspoken words hang broken, unfinished, mixed in among confusion along my brow. Soon the rhythm comes rushing back, plunging into fantasy, worlds that spin and twist and turn inside no one but me.
So as I sit with pen in hand I see almost everything. It’s not the world I visit though, the one supposedly occupied by you and I, but the great expanses of kingdoms and domains that unfurl within imagination. My home is wandering among ideas and capturing in words what I feel and see.

This entry was posted in: Short Stories & Flash Fiction

by

Carol Forrester is a twenty-three year old writer trying to be a better one. Don’t ask her what her hobbies are because the list doesn’t get much beyond, reading, writing and talking about the same. She has a 2:1 BA degree in history from Bath Spa University and various poems and stories scattered across the net. Her flash fiction story ‘Glorious Silence’ was named as River Ram Press’ short story of the month for August 2014 and her short story ‘A Visit From The Fortune Teller’ has been showcased on the literary site Ink Pantry’s. Most recently, her poem ‘Sunsets’ was featured on Eyes Plus Words, and her personal blog Writing and Works hosts a mass of writing from across the last five years. She has been lucky enough to write guest posts for sites such as Inky Tavern and Song of The Forlorn and is always open to writing more and hosting guest bloggers here on Writing and Works. With hopes of publishing a novel in the next five years and perhaps a collection or two of smaller works, Carol Forrester is nothing if not ambitious. Her writing tries to cover every theme in human life and a lot of her work pulls inspiration from her own eccentric family in the rural wonders of Shropshire life.

3 Comments

  1. sydney says

    the way you describe things and compare them is amazing. i love this passage 😀

    winkie77 at deviantart

  2. I love your writing! It’s so visual, and it really puts you into the place of the speaker. I really love this line “The witches hide in mountain valleys, their skin coiled with spells and Elvin Queens sit on lonely thrones, while their children scorn their choices.” Thank you for contributing your beautiful words to the world!

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